Take Me as I Am
by Rosa Cotton
Summary: Time and time again Bilbo fails to be what the dwarves need and want. Bookverse, movieverse, AU. No slash. Female!Bilbo.


Disclaimer: _The Hobbit_, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of J. R. R. Tolkien's estate, and Warner Brothers, New Line Cinema, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, and WingNut Films.

* * *

Take Me as I Am

When she blushes and stammers in front of Thorin Oakenshield as he scoffs, "She looks more like a grocer than a burglar," circling her while his companions laugh, she wishes she wasn't a respectable Baggins. Then she would show all of them a thing or two.

* * *

"Here. Take this!"

The next thing Bilbo knows she is holding a piece of cloth between two fingertips that appears to have seen better days. Wordlessly she gawks at the fur-hatted dwarf. His beam grows even wider, showing off his dimples, and he winks at her. She blinks.

"You will have to do without a great deal of things beside handkerchiefs, Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf says firmly, riding up beside her.

The hobbit looks away from the dwarf and ducks her head. Hobbits enjoy their comforts, it is how they are. Yet she cannot help longing to be more like what the dwarves want – perhaps then she won't feel so out of place.

* * *

"Up ye go, lassie!" the toymaker states, roughly and swiftly settling the hobbit on Dori's back.

Then they are off, continuing to run through the forest, keenly aware of the creatures pursuing them. One particular loud, close-sounding howl has Bilbo frantically twisting her head around to look back. But all she is able to see is the cheery dwarf, keeping close to Dori's back. Catching her eye, the look he flashes her is sharp and grim, yet determined. Oddly, his expression makes her feel protected.

"Blasted hobbits not able to run fast enough when needed!" Dori huffs.

"My apologies!" Bilbo retorts, no heat behind her words as she is jostled about, secretly in agreement with the silver-haired dwarf.

* * *

"Miss Baggins."

The lass jerks at the gravelly voice and fumbles sheathing her letter opener. Ori and Bombur, seated nearby, wince when she almost cuts herself in the progress.

"Master Dwalin?" she stutters uncertainly, discovering the warrior looking down at her with a thunderous frown.

"Come. Bring your weapon," he adds when she begins to set it aside. "Let us see how your fighting skills are."

"I do not have any such skills. I've never used a sword in my life!" Bilbo speaks in a rush, eyes widening in apprehension.

"Undoubtedly," Thorin snorts from his seat in a corner of the pavilion. "Go with Dwalin, burglar."

The hobbit gapes at him.

"_Now_," he barks, impatiently waving a hand in dismal.

Closing her mouth, Bilbo silently obeys. She swallows hard as over half of the company follows her and Dwalin, interested in observing. Kili and Fili snicker, Nori starts taking bets from the others, Bofur sends her an encouraging smile. She resolutely gazes forward. And prays somehow she will gain the company's approval just a little.

* * *

Despite all her efforts, Bilbo cannot stop the moments when dizziness threatens to overwhelm her, nor keep her eyes from wandering to the edge of the narrow twisting path.

"Keep up, Halfling!"

Thorin's loud order reaches back to her and she stumbles to her knees. Gloin and Oin quickly pass, shooting her dirty looks. Shaking, Bilbo squeezes her eyes shut, envying their nonchalance and lack of fear.

She senses someone looming over her. But she is unable to look up until a large warm hand carefully wraps around one of hers. The hobbit discovers Bofur watching her, his moustache drooping and twinkling eyes strangely dim. Silently he assists her to her feet and then leads her on along the path, keeping close to the wall of stone rising on their left.

He never releases her hand, for which she is grateful, especially when the mountain path turns wet and slippery from the pouring rain. Without shame she clings to him when the group becomes caught in the stone giants' battle.

* * *

"_She has been lost since she ran out her door! She should never have come."_

Thorin's words spin wildly in Bilbo's mind over and over. And every time they sound just as chilly and furious and condemning. Never before had the dwarf-lord's words been so hurtful, trapping her, refusing to let go.

Perhaps it is her fault for being so affected by them. Because a wish, longing has slowly, stubbornly, inexplicably bloomed during the course of this quest: to belong, be accepted by the dwarves. A foolish hope in the end. Because Thorin is right – has always been right. She is lost. A burden. Unwanted.

So she ignores the way her heart aches when Bofur's face crumbles when she says she's going back to Rivendell, and he clasps her cold hand between both of his. He claims in a low voice, "Ye are one of us! Part of the company! Ye belong with—"

She steps back. "But I don't! I never have and never will!"

* * *

They are all safe. Bilbo's plan worked. Instead of being proud she is tempted to burst into tears, or to sleep for a week. Seated a little ways from the others, the hobbit uneasily watches the now calm river. She feels like she has failed.

Because the dwarves grew so short-tempered, Thorin more worried and on edge during their long imprisonment. Because Bilbo barely slept or ate, stressed by all hope of escape resting on her shoulders. Because her plan nearly fell apart when the company refused to get into the barrels and she nearly lost it; then they had been pursued by elves and orcs, Kili got injured, she almost swept away. Because it seemed like she was inv—

An arm gently bumping against hers jerks the lass from her thoughts, and she finds Bofur easing himself down beside her. The fur on his hat sticks up in every direction. His small smile is tired yet clear.

"Thank ye, Bilbo, for rescuing us. Once again we are in yer doubt," he murmurs gratefully.

A weak, wet chuckle escapes the hobbit and she covers her face with her hands, shakes her head. "Durin's Day is five days away. What if we do not reach the mountain in time?" Her eyes flash in panic when she lowers her hands and turns to the dwarf.

"Ye did what ye could and succeeded, little one. Now we will attempt our best and pray we are not too late," he reassures her.

She continues as though she has not heard him. "Suppose I did not find you all fast enough? Devise a way to get you out sooner? Once again didn't do _enough_? It would have been better if I'd been a real burglar, or perhaps a…a male," her voice dies off. She stares down at her lap.

Bofur looks at the water. His words barely reach the lass's ears over the river's flow. "I am glad ye are not."

Bilbo's breath is stolen by his gentle tone and unexpected words. She wonders what he means. When her green eyes meet his dark ones – so bright, so soft – she is unable to ask. He brings a hand up to her cheek and instinctively she leans into the touch.

"I am glad ye are female…glad ye're _ye. _Brave, fussy, well-mannered, kind, lovely, doing yer best." Bofur's hand slowly slides over the hobbit's flushed cheek and curls around the nape of her neck, gently pulling her to him as he leans closer. "Ye're _Bilbo_. No one could ask for anything more from ye. Nor would I have ye any other way," the dwarf confesses.

Then he tenderly kisses Bilbo, and she smiles against his lips.

THE END


End file.
